


Bring on the monsters (bring on the real world)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Barebacking, Fluff and Smut, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Mates, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Shameless Smut, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Sterek Week 2019, SterekHalloween5, Stiles Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, no one look at me while I type these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 20:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: He was supposed to be making an impression on Lydia, but instead he’s making fun of a terrible werewolf costume. To be fair, those mutton chops remind him of Michael J. Fox in the worst way, and the guy didn’t appear to be too offended. He was too busy smelling Stiles for some reason. He really shouldn’t have forgotten cologne.





	Bring on the monsters (bring on the real world)

**Author's Note:**

> For Sterek week, Halloween.   
Somehow this turned from a fun Halloween party fic into actual bonafide smut. My first smut. So.... Hope it doesn't suck (well, Stiles does).

It was a lame ass party, but Lydia was going to be here, so where else was he going to be on Halloween? He wasn’t as pathetic as he’d been in high school, but he definitely still had not given up on his ten year plan for Lydia Martin - not yet. She actually knew his name now – probably just because he’d been salutatorian to her valedictorian back in high school, but that didn’t really matter when Lydia ‘the goddess’ Martin actually knew his fucking name. 

And therefore he had to keep trying, because she was acknowledging him and she wasn’t with Jackson anymore because that douche had left for London the second the ink on his high school diploma had dried. And Aiden, the rebound twin, hadn’t lasted all that long either. He hadn’t made it to sophomore year, anyway. 

Stiles had a chance now – Lydia was single, or at least he thought she was single. There were rumors about her, there were always rumors about girls like Lydia. People said that she was sleeping with a hot young deputy – Stiles thought that clearly had to be Parrish because his crush on Lydia was super obvious to anyone who was suffering from the same affliction. But he doubted those feelings were mutual. 

Clearly Lydia wanted to be single for a little while before she signed up to be Mrs. Stiles Stilinski – Lydia Stilinski. Stilinski-Martin? Yeah, she’d probably hyphenate. 

Anyway, his pursuit of Lydia – or as he liked to call it, his gentle reminder to her that he existed – had brought him to a stupid frat party. Apparently college was not that different from high school, because there was still a lot of underage drinking and a lot of girls in costumes that did not take Northern California weather into account. Okay, it never actually got East Coast cold here, but it wasn’t like costumes that were barely more than bikinis were appropriate for the sharp gusts of cold wind rushing through town. 

He hadn’t actually spotted Lydia yet, but he knew he would. Maybe she wasn’t there yet – she liked to make an entrance, be fashionably late. He knew he’d feel her presence when she arrived, that tug at his Spark that told him she was near. 

“Excuse me,” he pushed past a couple that had decided to get an early start on the Samhain fertility rituals. 

No, fuck, that was Beltane. Beltane had the fertility rituals (he knew better than this, he really did). Still, way too much tongue for a public display of affection – any exhibitionism had to be consented to by bystanders as well, thanks. 

It wasn’t that Stiles was jealous of them – okay maybe he was, because he was 19, a sophomore in college, and he was still a virgin. He wasn’t saving himself for Lydia, because that was bullshit. He wanted to know what he was doing when he actually landed a goddess – it was just that no one was interested in fooling around with him. No one was interested in getting close to him, in forming a bond, even for a night. 

Bisexuality was supposed to make it easier to find someone who was interested in him – like, more options. Okay, that cheapened his sexuality. He was genuinely into both men and women. But the options were kind of a nice bonus that never happened. 

Stiles was very aware of the kind of guy he was – he talked too much about things people didn’t care about, if they could even follow his random tangents. He was less than graceful and prone to tripping or falling or spilling things on people other than himself. He was an all-in kind of person where most others just wanted some space, just to hang out, just to be chill. Fucking chill. This was not the area of California where he was expecting that surfer mentality, but it was prevalent all over the university anyway. 

But whatever. Maybe tonight. Maybe this was the night when Lydia would notice him that way, and if not, maybe it was the night that he finally got rid of that pesky virginity. Maybe someone was going to want to kiss him – finally. And not just because they were too drunk to care, because Stiles wasn’t up for that shit. Because he was kind of cute in dim lighting and he was wearing a cool costume that he’d worked really fucking hard on. 

Bucky Barnes was not an easy person to embody, okay? His fake metal arm was kind of… basic, but he’d had to work with the limited supplies he had, and he actually thought he’d made it look good. The star was perfectly placed, he managed to create a bit of a plating effect, and the rest of his costume was solid. The smudged panda make-up (courtesy of the lovely Allison) was on point, he knew how to look cool holding a knife, and he’d been practicing his murder strut for weeks now. 

People actually stepped out of the way when he approached – and not in the way they did when they thought he was contagious (fuck you Jackson). No, they moved aside because Stiles Stilinski was a certified cosplay badass. 

Well, okay, not that couple but they were too busy sucking face to bother. 

Still no Lydia. Still no tug, no hint that she was on her way, that she was getting closer. 

And no one else he knew was here either. Scott and Allison were on the outs again, and Stiles had no idea why, but he certainly wasn’t getting in the middle of that over their attendance to a Halloween party. So he had decided to just go alone instead, hoping that he’d run into someone who made the Spark pull and yank and tug. 

Or that he’d get to see Lydia. Mostly Lydia. Of course. 

But it was taking too long, and Stiles was not great at patience in situations like this. Sure, he had all the time in the world when it came to his ten year plan for Lydia Martin, but when it came to awkwardly standing in the corner at a stupid frat party…. Well, did anyone have the patience for that kind of bullshit? 

Doubtful. Extremely doubtful. 

So instead he tried to look for someone else, anyone else that he could strike up a conversation with. And then he felt… something, and he looked up. 

The guy in the wolf costume was… Really fucking hot. At least, Stiles thought he might be really fucking hot underneath the weird special effects make-up. He hadn’t seen anyone else make such an effort with their make-up, probably because they all assumed that they were going to be sucking face with some random stranger by the end of the night and then the make-up was just going to smudge. 

But this guy. This guy was committed, and Stiles was super into it, even though he didn’t really get the wolfy look from that terrible Michael J. Fox movie from the 1980s. Stiles liked his wolves strong and dangerous, and not like high school students with bad make-up. Not that this guy’s make-up was bad and wow he was already digging himself into a hole and he hadn’t even tried to talk to the guy yet. He wanted to though, for some reason. 

It was just… This was not a particularly sexy werewolf look, with the mysterious lack of eyebrows and the ridiculous mutton chops that looked like they were much more coarse than human hair would be. Did it look like dog hair? Wolf hair? 

At least Stiles got that the guy was supposed to be a werewolf. Not a fucking Twilight werewolf, he’d seen several of those already and those were just offensive to Native American culture. And a stupid excuse to wear jorts and be shirtless.

Because frat boys were disgusting and a sorry excuse for… something. 

Fuck, he really should have remembered to take his fucking Adderall the past few days, because this was not his best Bucky. He could have done better with the attitude if he hadn’t felt so jittery. Maybe if he’d been smarter, the werewolf wouldn’t have been staring at him with a look that seemed to be… angry? It was hard to see through the heavy, heavy stage make-up. 

Still, Stiles stepped in closer, because he needed to talk to him. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles just had to ask, because clearly he had no self preservation skills whatsoever. “Or is the make-up troubling you? Right now you just look like you have an itch you can’t scratch without ruining it. I can help, if you want. No, that’s weird, you don’t want a stranger touching your face. Wow I’m an idiot please ignore everything I’ve ever said.” 

That just earned him more of that look, and it was more than a little worrying. He hadn’t exactly said that much that could have pissed off Teen Wolverine – was that a good nickname? Probably. Stiles had already decided on using it until he could think of something better. 

The pounding of the music wasn’t helping him come up with something though. 

“The claws are the real issue here,” the werewolf revealed hands with creepily sharp claws that Stiles kind of wanted to touch. 

Because once again, no self preservation skills. He was that kid who just had to fucking try the dangerous shit. He was the kid who dragged Scott into the preserve back home because they genuinely thought that they were going to find a body there. Because they were little assholes who thought it was cool instead of seriously traumatizing. 

He’d grown up a lot since then, though. Maybe. 

“Cool, though,” Stiles nodded at the wolf. “Much cooler than the make-up. Because seriously dude, those mutton chops are not on a Wolverine level. And the heavy brow is kinda reminding me of shitty 80s movies. Fuck, I’m an asshole, I’m just trying to say your claws are cool. It was supposed to be a compliment.” 

As usual, Stiles’ reasonably good intentions all went to shit the second he started talking, because his mouth had a mind of its own. Or it just didn’t have one at all and said random shit to embarrass Stiles. Either would work. 

“Thanks?” The wolf made sure to make it sound like a question. 

Probably because it made Stiles feel like even more of an asshole than he already did. He’d definitely pissed off a guy who thought it was cool to dress up as a presumably dangerous monster. But then again, Stiles didn’t have room for judgment when he was dressed up as an infamous Russian sleeper agent slash world war two sniper slash the secret love interest of Captain America. Okay, maybe not so secret to the people who had eyes. 

Sure, Stiles loved Peggy Carter and her badassness – she reminded him of both his mom and Allison somehow – but Peggy totally married that cute SSR agent with the prosthetic and had brilliant and adorable babies with him. And Steve was in modern times, putting his life on the line for his murderous best friend and Stiles had a lot of feelings about this. 

The MCU wasn’t nearly queer enough for his tastes. Not canonically anyway. 

Fanfic was forever though. 

Fuck, how long had he zoned out? Was he supposed to say something to the wolf? Did he miss something? 

“I can get out of your hair,” Stiles started, only to crack himself up. “Hah, hair.” 

He pointed at the mutton chops, because he was that asshole. He was this close to touching the guy too, swaying ever closer to him. Another tug of… something. 

“Are you on something?” The wolf actually stepped in closer, carefully placing a clawed hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “You don’t smell like alcohol.” 

And wow was that his life flashing before his eyes as those razor sharp claws almost touched his skin? It really wasn’t all that exciting and he really didn’t want to die a virgin. 

“I’m not on something,” Stiles wasn’t half as offended as he made it sound. “That’s the problem. I forgot my meds, and they usually do about a fifty fifty job of making me sound kind of normal. So, guess your odds suck today.” 

There was a nose close to his neck now, which was very wolfy – it was commendable of the guy to be so in character, and it made Stiles perk up in the way that he usually did when he found new kinky fic to read, because wow sniffing was not something he’d been interested in before. But if it lead to biting and marking and hot werewolf sex, Stiles was totally in. Theoretically.

Was the guy werewolf accurate enough to have a knot on his dick? 

Fucking hell his brain was the woooooooorst. 

Insert Jean-Ralphio style singing here. 

“I think they’re just fine,” the words were practically whispered against his skin. 

A part of him just wanted to get in closer, let Wolf guy touch him some more, but… That was ridiculous, right? 

“Are you drunk?” Stiles had to ask, because this? Weird. 

Like, the guy was still sniffing him a bit – Stiles couldn’t have smelled that good, even though he’d showered before the party because he had to smell nice if he was going to be around Lydia. But he’d managed to forget to put on the nice cologne he occasionally borrowed from his Dad, so the guy was probably getting a good whiff of Eau de Stiles right now. 

That couldn’t have been that great of a smell. 

“I don’t get drunk,” the werewolf’s lisp through his fangs wasn’t as pronounced now. 

He was getting better at talking through the make-up. Good on him! 

“That’s sad,” Stiles decided. “Though not getting hungover is probably kind of awesome. Hangovers are the work of the devil, meant to torture young people who just want to have a good time and maybe not feel so anxious all the time, you know?” 

The guy probably didn’t know anything about anxiety, not at all, not when he was so completely unselfconscious about digging his coarse mutton chops into the crook of Stiles’ neck for no apparent reason. Making his skin tingle with the contact - so clearly Stiles had a thing for stubble now. Yes, that was definitely happening, even though this was a weird way to find out. 

“You don’t smell anxious,” the guy was clearly drunk. 

So the smelling was the reason that Stiles apparently wasn’t anxious? Still weird. 

“How does a person smell anxious?” Inquiring minds (Stiles) wanted to know. “Like, can you smell fear sweat? Because I’m sorry if I smell gross and sweaty. I swear I showered before I came here. Though I forgot cologne, so you probably smell me being all teenage boy gross. At least I don’t smell of desperation and Axe body spray, like most of these clowns.” 

He used to be one of those clowns, so clearly he had very little room to judge. But he was going to do it anyway. Because frat boys were the worst. 

“You talk a lot,” Wolfy was stating the obvious now. 

“Duh,” Stiles decided to stop talking so much – it didn’t work. “That’s what everyone always says about me, and I cannot say that they’re wrong. I have a lot of thoughts and when I don’t take my Adderall I get all word vomit-y and say all of the things that are on my mind but it’s not in any kind of order so people don’t understand and I have to say more to make them understand and then it’s just a vicious circle. Fun for the whole fucking family.” 

Maybe the cursing kind of made the whole family friendly fun thing meaningless. Probably. 

The guy hadn’t moved, and his mutton chops were kind of tickly still. But like, a surprisingly nice kind of tickly – like Stiles wanted to have scruff burn all over his body tickly. Did Wolfy have scruff when he wasn’t plastered in make-up? Stiles’ fingers were crossed. 

“I don’t talk much,” Wolfy had to state the obvious. “I don’t mind if you talk.” 

Clearly he didn’t mind, as he was still hiding his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck. Was he embarrassed that his make-up was rubbing off or something? 

Shit, Stiles really didn’t want to think of the state of his neck – he didn’t have any make-up remover, so getting himself cleaned up was definitely going to suck. Oh well, it was probably worth it if he got to make out with Wolfy. 

He wasn’t even all that picky about the make-up anymore. He just felt - pulled in, interested, something. He just wanted more of this, more of Wolfy. 

“You are the first person who’s ever told me that, dude,” Stiles gaped at Wolfy when the guy finally pulled back from his hiding place. “You are an actual unicorn. Which means you picked the wrong costume – though I’m not sure pink is your color. Not that you’re not totally gorgeous no matter what you wear. Case in point.” 

Here he pointed at the guy’s face, make-up still perfect somehow. Impressive – Lydia would love to find out what product he was using. Because it had lasted through some intense heavy breathing into Stiles’ neck and some definite rubbing and sweating. 

Fuck that sounded like there was something sexy going on (yeah, he fucking wished, okay) - and yeah, okay, maybe Stiles was a total virgin because a guy breathing hard into the curve of his neck was absolutely getting him going at this point. 

Then again, a stiff breeze could get him going. It was that bad. 

“What’s your name?” Wolfy asked. 

Wait, this guy didn’t know? He didn’t have any preconceptions of him? Like, he didn’t know about that loser Stilinski who drooled over Lydia Martin from a distance? The guy who made money by writing papers for rich assholes at other universities because he was too much of a mess to do customer service? The guy who loved writing other people’s ethics papers because actual, non Alanis, irony kept him going? The guy weird things always seemed to happen around? The guy who didn’t have any fucking friends (bar Scott)? That guy? This guy didn’t know him? What kind of a gift was that!

“Stiles,” he ducked his head, not really wanting to see the response. 

“What the hell is a Stiles?” Wolfy’s slightly disturbing lack of eyebrows was really pronounced now. 

Clearly there were sassy eyebrows he was missing at this point. He kind of wished he could see them, because guys with a sense of humor were kind of his kryptonite. Not that he’d ever gotten close to enough for it to be his kryptonite, but that was not the point. 

He was getting close enough now, and would happily get even closer. 

“I’m a Stiles,” he was still searching for a disappointed look from Wolfy. “Stilinski, actually. Not Stiles Stilinski, because my parents weren’t that cruel, but my first name is Polish and I had trouble pronouncing and spelling it as a kid, so Stiles I am. My dad said it was a good thing I didn’t torture my teachers with my name as well as my general existence. But he was wrong, because I was a joy to have in class.” 

Wolfy laughed, and Stiles really wanted to believe the guy wasn’t laughing at him. Usually that was what people did, but Wolfy was different. He had to be. Stiles needed him to be different. 

“And your name?” Stiles just had to ask. “I can’t keep calling you dude or big guy or Wolfy. Or better looking Wolverine. You’re too tall for Wolverine, but also too hot, so. I think, anyway, under all that make-up. I’d love to see your human face.” 

There was no way that was actually a blush underneath all that make-up. No fucking way. 

The more annoying thing, though, was the fact that Wolfy remained silent, as if he didn’t want to reveal his name to Stiles. When really, it couldn’t have been anything worse than Stiles’ own name. It was probably something generic, right? So he didn’t have to worry about Stiles recognizing him and stalking him once he ditched the make-up. 

Insecurity was a fucking… dick. 

“Why?” Wolfy finally broke the silence. 

“Why your face?” Stiles was preparing a monologue on that very subject. “I feel like it would be a nice face, with actual eyebrows. That you use to communicate because you seem like a sassy fucker who can speak with his eyebrows. I like that kind of thing in a guy. Also, I feel like kissing would be a pain around those fangs.” 

Oh fuck. Too far, Stiles. Too far. Just because he was a desperate loser faced with a guy who actually wanted to be around him, didn’t mean that guy actually thought that Stiles was anything special. Heck, it didn’t even mean this guy wasn’t straight! It didn’t mean anything other than that Stiles was getting carried away again, letting this odd pull, this tug get to him. 

He’d been the idiot who misread the situation before and probably would be again. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Wolfy wasn’t running away. 

Of course he wouldn’t know, like it made sense that he wasn’t going around kissing random girls while wearing those sharp-looking fangs. Unless that was Wolfy’s kink and Stiles was just going to try not to judge that one. 

But Wolfy was so pointedly looking at him, and if he’d had eyebrows, they would have been arched, so what the hell was he trying to s- oh. Oh my fucking god. 

“Are you flirting with me?” Yes, Stiles was a smart guy - he was on the dean’s list. 

“Yes,” Wolfy still didn’t look away. 

This time Stiles was the one asking. “Why?” 

That certainly silenced Wolfy - probably because he didn’t have a good reason, not one that was going to sound good to Stiles. Why would he be flirting with Stiles? Because he was bored and/or drunk? Because there was some kind of shitty bet going on between some frat boy assholes, like Stiles was Rachael Leigh Cook in She’s All That? And Wolfy was Freddie Prinze Jr. underneath all the heavy make-up? Yeah, it had to be something like that. 

Clearly this wasn’t real. It wasn’t like Wolfy felt that weird pull too. 

“Because you smell good,” Wolfy said something Stiles could not have anticipated. 

Or maybe this was a part of the bet? Yeah, it could totally be part of the bet. Even if Wolfy was now acting like he was super embarrassed that he’d said it. He had to be acting, or something. 

“Thanks?” Stiles still felt he had to respond to the compliment. 

“Pretend I didn’t say that,” came the order from Wolfy. “Mom said it would be… But this? Laura is going to laugh at me for the rest of my life.” 

Laura? His Mom? Who even was Wolfy? 

Did Stiles know a Laura? There was a Laura in one of his stupid core requirement classes that he’d worked with on a project, but he doubted she even remembered him because she’d been a complete pain in the ass to work with. Too busy with her sorority and her boyfriend and anything but school. So, yeah, he was really hoping it wasn’t that Laura. 

But did it really matter? It didn’t, really, because this was just a party and they were both in costume and he might as well just live up to the Halloween madness and do something stupid instead of thinking of possible consequences all night. He might as well acknowledge that odd pull between him and Wolfy and actually do something about it. 

“Look, Wolfy,” Stiles blurted out the nickname because he was an idiot. “I think it’s time you either introduce yourself or get with the trying out the fangs thing. If you want. I mean, I think it’s kind of important you find out what kissing’s like with those.” 

That and Stiles’ brand spanking (hah!) new biting kink was totally on board to make out with this guy. And if it was a bet and he ended up covered in pig’s blood… Well, he’d live - or he’d get super awesome telekinetic powers so that he could unleash his wrath on the assholes involved. He’d been embarrassed many times before. He’d deal. 

And if it wasn’t a bet? He’d get kisses out of the deal, and a cool story to tell Scott when he got home. He didn’t have all that much to lose. That pull could totally be ignored. 

“Yes?” Somehow Wolfy managed the inflection needed to make it a question. 

He’d gently put a clawed hand on Stiles’ waist, which definitely told him which way Wolfy was leaning when it came to his options. 

“Kiss me, Wolverine,” Stiles grinned. 

“Stiles,” Wolfy admonished, before finally bridging the gap. 

Wolfy was gentle, so very gentle as he pressed surprisingly soft lips against Stiles’ chapped ones. He was so mindful of his fangs and his clawed hands (one still on Stiles’ waist, the other pulling him in by the back of his neck) that Stiles got stupid about it. 

Sure, the kiss was nice, warm and slightly wet, and the fact that this guy was slightly taller than him made him feel things he hadn’t been prepared for… But it wasn’t the wild make out session he’d been hoping for. He wanted Wolfy desperate, pulling Stiles in uncaring for fangs and furry cheeks and claws. He wanted the wolf - even if it was just a shitty costume. 

Besides - stupid costumes couldn’t actually hurt him, and the tugging hadn’t stopped - it just got worse, and he had to follow its lead. 

“Come on, Wolfy,” Stiles dared as they broke apart again after a too short kiss. “You can do better than that. Wolves have tongues, right?” 

Because Stiles didn’t have a lick (hah!) of common sense when it came to danger, he licked his lips as he waited for Wolfy to make a move. 

“Come on,” he challenged again. “Make me feel it like a good little werewolf. ”

Okay, so the lack of Adderall had made him say a lot of stupid shit, but this definitely took the cake. It worked though, because Wolfy growled (actually growled, because clearly this guy was taking his costume way too seriously) and lunged at Stiles. 

Fuck yeah. So much better. 

A fanged mouth on Stiles’ neck, licking and sucking at his pale skin. And because Stiles was a kinky bastard whose neck apparently had a straight line to his dick, he pushed Wolfy’s head in more, encouraging him to continue while canting his hips. 

Shit, he needed to climb Wolfy like a tree. Scrambling for purchase, he was happy to discover that Wolfy was strong enough to pull him up, letting Stiles wrap his legs around his waist while continuing to positively maul Stiles’ neck. 

Okay, firm checkmark on the marking kink as well. 

Holy shit, that felt good, and now he could rub his quickly hardening dick against a really fucking perfect chest. The friction was amazing - clearly that was a V-cut he was rubbing against. 

“Fuck,” he cursed as Wolfy yanked at his costume, trying to expose more skin. 

All the time he’d spent on the Winter Soldier costume was totally worth it, even if he’d never be able to wear it again after this. And not just because the memory of this moment was going to give him a hard-on every time he even attempted to try it on, but also because Wolfy’s claws were getting less and less careful and he’d heard the sound of ripping fabric. 

“Privacy?” Stiles panted at Wolfy, rocking against him until they fit together perfectly. “This is amazing, it is. You’re so good. So good. Fuck.” 

Wait, what was he saying again? He’d managed to yank up Wolfy’s Henley and put his hands on the warm skin underneath. Muscles were working hard under his hands, and Stiles gulped as he felt the hardness in Wolfy’s pants rub hard against the corresponding one in his own bulky combat fatigues. 

Wolfy was not packing anything small there - that was a real lethal weapon and not one of the prop knives and guns Stiles had strapped to his thighs. They were really digging into his skin at this point, but the slight pain from that was just making everything more vivid, more real. 

“So distracting,” Stiles made another attempt to speak. “Not in public. Please. Wolfy. My first time. Not in public. Just us. Fuck.” 

Sentences over three words were totally overrated anyway, right? 

But his words made Wolfy stop, which had been the very last thing he’d wanted to accomplish. 

“No,” he whined. “Why are you with the stopping? I didn’t say stop. Don’t stop. Come on, Wolfy.” 

A growl sounded against his neck, the vibrations tingling against his flushed, marked skin. Fuck, why was everything this guy did so wolf-like and so fucking hot? 

“You can keep the fangs,” Stiles promised, trying to persuade Wolfy. “The claws too, I don’t care. Jesus, you’re so hot. You need to fuck me, like yesterday. Come on.” 

He’d never felt like this before, like his skin was melting everywhere their bodies touched, like every place Wolfy touched him made him burn more. He didn’t want Wolfy to ever stop touching him, he’d die if he did. 

Melodramatic? Yes. But no one had ever excused Stiles of not appreciating drama. 

“First time?” Wolfy was still stuck on that, apparently. 

“Yes,” Stiles tried not to feel too much shame about it. “Come on, Wolfy. I know you wolves get all hot and bothered about claiming, so… You get to be the first, if you just… Fuck.” 

Fangs scraped over the skin of his collarbone and Stiles could actually feel his dick stiffening up more, even though he could have sworn that was impossible. Fuck, he really didn’t want to come in these pants. 

“Stiles,” Wolfy huffed his name so pleadingly, so perfectly. 

And then he started moving, just walking away with Stiles still wrapped around him like a limpet, making him clench his entire body more tightly against Wolfy’s before he realized that Wolfy was clearly strong enough to carry his body weight, barely even breaking a sweat. 

“You’re the hottest fucking thing, Jesus,” Stiles cursed, hiding his face in Wolfy’s neck. 

The second they stopped moving, he was going to… He was going to do something, he really was, but the way Wolfy’s hands were practically kneading his ass was so distracting. The sting of the claws digging in barely even seemed to register. 

“Yeah, take me home,” Stiles begged as they stopped in front of a gorgeous black car. 

It was the kind of car that usually made him think that the owner was compensating for something, but clearly that wasn’t the case with Wolfy. They were pressed together so closely that Stiles could tell Wolfy didn’t need to overcompensate for anything ever. 

Fuck, he wanted to get fucked. Like right the fuck now. 

“Come on,” Stiles continued to push and prod. “Don’t you wanna claim me? Get me in your little wolf-y den and just fuck me? I’m game, I’m so game.” 

More growling, and Stiles was going to need serious therapy after this if every growl made him as hard as Wolfy’s seemed to. He didn’t have that much of a werewolf kink before tonight (lies, lies, Liza Minelli) - but even the mutton chops were hot at this point, the coarse hairs still dragging on his sensitive skin. He just wanted more. 

“Let go,” Wolfy ordered. 

Stiles pouted at him until he realized that his death grip on Wolfy’s waist was the reason they weren’t getting in the porn car and heading to the nearest bedroom. 

“Your mouth,” Wolfy leaned in and caught Stiles’ lower lip gently between his fangs. 

Guh. That was good too. Everything was so good. Too good. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Stiles finally untangled himself from Wolfy. “Car. We’re getting in the car. ‘Cause you’re taking me home. Right now.” 

This time Wolfy was the one who had trouble letting Stiles go, barely even verbal as he pushed Stiles up against the cool metal of the car door. His rough tongue - fuck, so hot - dragged against the undoubtedly enormous hickeys he’d left all over Stiles’ neck and collarbone. 

“You’re killing me, Wolfy,” Stiles sighed, painfully turned on and deliriously happy. 

He tilted his head, exposing the as of yet unmarked side of his neck, and immediately knew he’d made a mistake. Wolfy wasn’t going to let them get in the car before biting and licking and mauling him some more. 

“Wait,” he pushed at Wolfy’s chest ineffectually. “In the car. Home. Your home. You can put your mouth all over me later. After I’ve gotten my hands and mouth all over you. In your den. Come on. I’m a virgin, I’ve been ready to blow for ages. You’re so good at this. So good. My Wolfy.” 

The possessiveness surprised him with its vehemence, with the way he had trouble letting go of someone who was basically a complete stranger long enough to let them both get in the car. Wolfy was probably just a weirdo with a wolf kink and Stiles didn’t know his name and he didn’t fucking care because Wolfy was his and Lydia who? Wolfy was all he could see and hear and touch and smell. 

Fuck, he smelled so fucking good, like the woods after it had rained. Like the Preserve back home, and like… Something addictive. Something good. 

“Yours, yours,” Wolfy practically howled as he finally let go. 

The asshole actually opened the door for Stiles, and Stiles would have attacked him with his mouth again if he hadn’t moved away so quickly. But it was okay. Because Wolfy was getting in on the passenger side and the doors were closed and Stiles could just reach over the gear shift and pull him in again. 

“Kiss me,” Stiles was back to begging. “You gotta. Come on. You’re mine. Let me.” 

Had Stiles ever wanted anything this much before? He couldn’t think of anything, could barely remember anything happening outside of this damn car. Outside of him and Wolfy. 

What the hell was happening to him? 

“Wait,” Wolfy was panting. “Not. Have to drive. You can’t. If you touch me. Don’t want to crash.” 

Stiles had to sit on his hands, and even then it was stupidly hard (like his dick, hah!) not to reach out and touch. Wolfy’s hair was a mess, and Stiles wanted to run his fingers through it. He wanted to comb through those stupid mutton chops with his fingers, or gently trace Wolfy’s sharp claws because he somehow knew it would drive Wolfy wild. 

Wolfy was clearly the kinky sort. Like Stiles, clearly. 

“How far?” Stiles was losing feeling in his several of his fingers. 

“A few minutes,” Wolfy promised. 

“Drive faster,” Stiles ordered, uncaring of stupid things like speed limits and laws. 

He’d been taught the rules of the road very young, probably because he’d always been fascinated by going fast and feeling too much and that delicious tingle of danger running down his spine. And he’d tried to stick with it, to follow at least some of the rules for once. But he couldn’t now. He just couldn’t. 

Stiles needed Wolfy. In him. Now. 

“No,” Wolfy made an aborted motion to reach for him. “Have to keep you safe. Drive safe. Can’t hurt you. Protect you, always. You’re mine.” 

It made Stiles whine, his body filling with a sense of rightness. Because yes, yes, Wolfy was his and he was Wolfy’s and it was everything that was right and good in the world. Wolfy was the best mate, the very best and he was keeping Stiles so safe. 

“So good,” Stiles hummed then. “The best mate. So good. Keeping me so safe. Until you claim me. You have to. Claim me. In your den. I’m yours. Yours. Yours.” 

It was all nonsense to him, but they were the right words to say, he could feel it in his gut, just like he could feel the invisible tether between him and Wolfy, pulling tighter and tighter. It couldn’t snap - he’d die if it did. 

“Mate,” Wolfy gently brushed a clawed hand over the back of Stiles’ neck. 

“Uh-huh,” Stiles nodded, waiting for Wolfy to pull to a stop. “Your mate. Just yours.” 

Almost there, so close. Waiting was starting to physically hurt. He’d yanked his hands out from under his clenched thighs and flailed to stop them from tingling. Because he needed them, needed to reach out and touch his mate. His Wolfy. 

Why wasn’t he touching Wolfy again? 

“We’re here,” Wolfy announced, and Stiles pounced. 

Or, tried to pounce and was stopped by a stupid fucking seatbelt that he’d completely forgotten about. He unfastened it and tried again. The second attempt went a lot better than the first. 

“So good,” he murmured as he tried to get his hands on every inch of Wolfy’s body at once. 

Was Wolfy purring now? Good, because Stiles had to make him feel good. He’d made Stiles feel so damn good and he had to return the favor, and…

Bed. They needed a bed. The den. His Wolfy’s den. Where it was safe and warm and no one would interrupt them. Not ever. Because it was just theirs. 

“Stiles,” Wolfy kissed him briefly before pushing him back into his seat. “Get out.” 

That actually hurt to hear, like almost physically hurt - until he realized that Wolfy just wanted them both to get out of the car and into his den. Smart. That was so smart - he’d picked a smart mate. 

“Rude,” Stiles huffed, still smiling. “Rude wolf.” 

He practically threw himself out of the car then, breathing in the fresh air before Wolfy made his way back to his side. Where he was supposed to be, wrapping an arm around Stiles before lifting him up as if he hardly weighed anything at all. 

Which he didn’t - barely 155 pounds, he’d beefed up a little bit since high school - but still. Fuck that display of strength was definitely doing it for him. Maybe they could do it up against a wall later, the second time. Or the third. Or just at some point. He wasn’t ever going to want to stop. 

“Inside,” he ordered, clinging to Wolfy with his pathetic lack of strength. “Inside the house, then inside me. Yes.” 

There was a crash coming from inside the house, but Wolfy didn’t even flinch. He just casually locked the car while still holding Stiles up. And then he started to move towards a beautiful house set a little ways back from the road and the other houses, with a large garden in the back. 

Some of the lights were on, which was…worrying. Did Wolfy live with someone else? 

“Disgusting,” a young woman came running out of the house as if her life depended on it. “I’m happy for you little brother, but I need to not know about any of this. I’m going to stay at Travis’ for the next week or so. Or a month.” 

Sister. Laura? Probably. 

“Is a month enough?” Stiles asked Wolfy, completely serious. 

That earned him a hot wet kiss on the hinge of his jaw, Wolfy clearly finding more territory that he hadn’t marked yet. Stiles was going to be wearing turtlenecks for the rest of his life but he really did not fucking mind at all. 

“Disgusting,” sister-Laura repeated before getting onto the motorcycle parked in the driveway. 

She’d already driven off when Wolfy carried him up the porch steps, only to push him up against the door. And wow, Wolfy’s lethal weapon was pressing into him perfectly. Maybe he could waive that not in public thing for the first orgasm? He could. It would be so good. 

Yeah, he could let Wolfy get him off right here, right now. 

“Touch me,” he breathed out, already getting used to the feeling of fangs gliding against his skin. 

“Inside, Stiles,” Wolfy was almost as impatient as he was. 

But not impatient enough, so Stiles took his revenge. Because yes, inside. Inside Stiles, that was where Wolfy was supposed to be. But he wasn’t doing that. So Stiles dragged his tongue down Wolfy’s neck, and figured he’d start on a massive hickey of his own. 

Fuck, his own neck was still hot and tight and turning him the fuck on. 

“Yes inside Stiles,” he whispered in between nibbles. “Now.” 

Wolfy groaned and pushed them both through the open door, barely managing to close it behind them. But they managed, and then they were heading up the stairs, stumbling a few times because Stiles just had to taste the skin of Wolfy’s neck and shoulder and collarbone. He even tasted good - Stiles wanted. 

He had a moment of vertigo when he was dropped onto a large California King. He bounced not once but twice, and the strength that showed made his fatigues even more uncomfortably tight. He needed to get the hell out of this damn costume. 

“Clothes off,” he ordered, looking up at Wolfy. “You can stare later.” 

The look on Wolfy’s face couldn’t be described in any way other than hungry. Stiles almost didn’t want to stop looking at him, but he had to yank his clothes off. He had to. He was too hot with them on, burning under Wolfy’s gaze. 

But Wolfy wasn’t moving anymore, wasn’t even taking off his own clothes. He’d stopped moving completely. Standing still at the foot of the bed, he was a statue, if statues had rock-hard erections tenting their pants. 

“Wolfy?” Stiles was halfway through pulling down his boxers when he noticed. “No stopping! Why are you stopping? Do I look that bad?” 

Sure, he didn’t measure up to the gorgeousness that was Wolfy. He could tell that even without Wolfy removing his clothes. But he’d felt something, they both did - the tugging of that bond that got stronger and stronger until somehow it stopped. It just… stopped. Paused. 

Stiles just hoped it didn’t disappear completely. He didn’t want it to, so he tried to locate the feeling again, tried to pull the string from his end so Wolfy would come closer to him again, so he’d want him like he had before. Like Wolfy was his. His mate. His. All his. No one else’s. Wolfy belonged to Stiles Stilinski now, and always would. 

He closed his eyes and mentally tugged at the connection with all his might. He only opened his eyes when he felt Wolfy coming physically closer to him, reaching for him. 

“You feel it too?” Wolfy had at least kicked off his shoes before joining Stiles on the bed. “You just touched - you. I didn’t think you… You’re really my mate.” 

Yes, yes he was. Stiles didn’t know anything about Wolfy, not even his name, but he knew that Wolfy was his mate. Wolfy was his. Stiles was Wolfy’s, Wolfy was his. That was all he needed to know, as he launched himself at his mate. 

“Yes, yours, make me yours,” Stiles pushed Wolfy’s face into his neck again. 

That was where he was supposed to be. That and inside Stiles, claiming him. Making sure everyone knew Stiles was his, would always be his. Always. 

“I had no idea you’d feel it too,” Wolfy was breathing hard, his clawed grip on Stiles suddenly loosening. “I thought you’d regret it, but… You won’t. Because you’re mine.” 

Why were the claws gone? He’d started to get attached to them, even though he knew they weren’t actually real and Wolfy wasn’t actually a wolf. But since he didn’t know his name…

It was going to be so weird once he took off the costume. 

“Yours,” he told Wolfy. 

And then Wolfy looked up at him, and the electric blue eyes were fading to a curious mix of green and blue and grey and gold. Right before his own eyes, the mutton chops appeared to melt away, the heavy ridged brow turned into a normal face. A slightly familiar face, with severe eyebrows and perfectly sculpted stubble. 

The gorgeous face of his mate. 

“Derek Hale?” Stiles couldn’t do more than stare at Wolfy - at Derek. “You’re my mate? And a werewolf? And my mate? All mine, my mate?” 

Wolfy had been Derek Hale all along? Derek Hale was a werewolf? 

The mate thing sorta made sense for werewolves - Stiles had found enough kinky porn about knotting to know that much. Derek Hale being a werewolf? Also not the most surprising thing about this night. Being all wolfy (hah!) was probably a really great low-effort costume idea. 

“Yours, Stiles,” Derek stared at him with his human face. “All of me is yours.” 

What could he do after that declaration but to jump at Derek? Well, okay, he could have been a little more graceful about it, but this was his mate! Derek Hale was his mate, and Stiles wanted to lock that down right fucking now. 

“Then why are you not naked?” Stiles complained before kissing Derek. 

Okay, this was easier without the fangs, definitely. Derek’s lips were still soft, but since there was no risk of bleeding, he could just dive right in. There was no hesitance, no soft pecks to get warmed up - no, Derek was sucking on his tongue while trying to climb on top of Stiles. 

Stiles was all for it. All for everything. And especially for Derek getting naked, so he was pulling Derek’s Henley up while attempting to keep the kiss going. Eventually he had to let go, just for a few seconds until Derek had… Holy fucking hell. 

“Ugh,” Stiles moaned unintelligibly at the sight of Derek’s half-naked body. “How are you even real? Are you Ryan Gosling-ing me right now? Are you photoshopped? Is this a werewolf thing too? Jesus fuck I’m so lucky. My karma must be amazing.” 

Those were a lot of muscles, a lot of muscles he wanted to get his hands all over. And his tongue. Definitely his tongue - he wanted to lick those abs and the vee of muscles pointing to the lethal weapon he couldn’t wait to get acquainted with. He wanted all of the things, all of the things involving Derek and him and nakedness and sex. Lots of sex. 

“You are ridiculous,” Derek pushed Stiles down onto the mattress. 

“I know,” Stiles said proudly, already calculating and mapping all of the best places on Derek’s impressive body. “You’re so lucky.” 

That made Derek laugh, and Stiles stopped mentally caressing Derek’s abs to look at his face when he smiled, because damn. That was a good face, and an excellent smile, with cute bunny teeth that Derek just needed to bite him with already, because damn. Did he mention damn?

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek’s laughter cut off abruptly when Stiles dragged his tongue down from Derek’s collarbone to his nipple. 

“Yes, let’s fuck Stiles,” Stiles pointedly muttered before none too gently biting at Derek’s pec. 

He’d only been begging for it for basically forever now, and now that they’d confirmed the whole mates thing and Derek was wearing his human face… Well, Stiles was getting more than a little impatient - he was an all or nothing kind of guy, and Derek had gotten his motor running so hard that nothing wasn’t even an option any longer. Not ever again. 

“Stiles,” Derek was clearly pleading for mercy. 

So Stiles reluctantly pulled back to watch the marks he’d made on Derek’s chest fade away - which, was that a werewolf thing too? If so, rude. So very rude. Why couldn’t the werewolf gods let Stiles put some ownership marks on Derek as well? Derek was all his, his mate, and everyone needed to know about that. But no, no physical proof for Stiles. 

Just, unfair. 

“Derek,” Stiles whined, knowing it would absolutely work on Derek. 

And it did, because Derek finally moved - clearly with superspeed or whatever, because apparently that was a werewolf thing - only in exactly the wrong direction. He moved away from Stiles, which was super disappointing until Stiles realized he was doing it to get rid of his pants. And Derek was going commando, which was a real gift from the werewolf gods. 

Was that drool coming out of Stiles’ mouth? Probably, because Derek had a good-looking dick that Stiles couldn’t wait to have inside him. Shit, he needed to get his mouth on that. Stat. 

“Have to blow you,” he told Derek. “Come back here. Fuck, you’re ridiculous. Come on.” 

Had he ever given a blow job before? No, he was still a virgin - for now. Was this going to be embarrassingly sloppy? Probably. But he didn’t care - he was going to get his mouth on his mate’s beautiful cock if it killed him. He had to get the taste of Derek on his tongue. 

Derek’s typical werewolf grace was gone, as he almost tripped all over himself to get back on the bed. Stiles laughed, delighted at his mate’s eagerness. At least this felt equal, like they were both desperate and eager and willing. 

With some pushing and prodding, and the werewolf letting himself be pushed into a position that was to Stiles’ liking, he’d managed to get Derek on his back. 

Time for Stiles to get up close and personal with his new best friend. It’s a lot bigger from this distance, but people have been calling him a bigmouth for years, and then there was the practicing on toys to get rid of that stupid gag reflex… He was still going to gag in about five seconds, but that was five more than he used to manage. 

“You don’t have to,” Derek tried to reassure him. 

“Oh, I know,” Stiles still didn’t take his eyes away from Derek’s erection. “I want to. Want to taste you. I bet you taste so good.” 

Well that just made Derek’s dick even more intimidating - and more wet, and Stiles just wanted to lap at that bead of precome at the tip. So he did, because what the hell was he waiting for anyway? A signed permission slip?

The taste was kind of… bitter, like he’d kind of been expecting it to be, like something he needed to get used to. Something he wanted to get used to, from all of the time he was going to spend sucking Derek off, tasting every inch of him. Becoming familiar with the taste of his skin, of the way his jaw had to stretch to take all of him in. 

He hummed a little, knowing it would relax his soft palate a little, and promptly choked when Derek’s hips pushed forward on a reflex. That was a little too much to handle on his first go. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Derek was flushed, already panting and Stiles had hardly even done anything, which was kind of flattering. “You’re just so… Fuck.”

It was kind of an awesome compliment, making Derek lose his train of thought again and again and again. Sure, maybe it was Stiles and maybe it was all due to some kind of special mate-related powers. That was actually kind of a disappointing thought - he wanted this to be just about him, and not solely about mystical wolf voodoo. 

And wow, his brain really just kept going even with a dick in his mouth? Clearly Garfunkel & Oates were onto something there. 

“Stiles,” Derek choked on thin air when Stiles reflexively swallowed around him. “Fuck. Please, Stiles. You have to stop. Stop, or I’ll…” 

Maybe in the future, when they weren’t running on the rush of finding each other and heading full speed for the hottest claiming in history - maybe then there’d be time to work on stamina. Right now? Not so much. 

Stiles was completely unsurprised to find that giving head made him rock fucking hard. He was a giver, okay, and the way that Derek was completely into it - and him - was totally doing it for him. 

“Cum?” Stiles asked, briefly popping off Derek’s dick with a surprisingly lewd pop. “Do it. I’m sure you have some kind of wolfy stamina. You can fuck me after.” 

He sucked Derek back down, getting his hands on Derek’s ass to pull him in even closer. He’d barely even established a rhythm with his mouth when Derek started coming - and coming. 

Fuck, that was a lot of jizz. Was that a werewolf thing? It had to be. 

Stiles really tried to get it all, to swallow it all down. But he had to pull off after several spurts, and instead let it hit his face and neck… Because well, Derek clearly had a kink and he wouldn’t be Stiles Stilinski if he didn’t take advantage of that. 

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groaned, a little come drunk, staring up at him with wide eyes. “You’re… You smell so good. Like us. Like you’re mine.” 

That was more than enough of a confidence booster to finally take off his boxers. Sure, he was never going to live up to Derek’s… everything, but he was pretty solid in his conviction that Derek was legit into him, scrawny body included. 

The very next second, he was flipped onto his back with his mate lapping at the slowly drying jizz on his neck and face. Well, fuck, okay, that was kind of hot. Both the flipping him like a pancake and the licking. No squeamishness for Derek. So good. 

“You’re good at that,” Stiles had to point out, wiggling his body against Derek’s supernaturally hot body. “I’m going to come embarrassingly fast.” 

That made Derek chuckle, and Stiles just stared at him for a little while, because he wanted to memorize that exact look and just make Derek smile and laugh like that all the time. Because damn, that was a good sight. And Stiles was getting that forever - as his mate. 

“Don’t wait on my account,” Derek was teasing him now. “I’m all for playing fair.” 

Well, Stiles was still an impatient little shit who wanted his mate inside him already, and that meant that he was definitely going to be a brat about this. Sure, he totally wanted to cum, but that could totally happen while he got fucked, right?

“Good,” Stiles rolled his eyes before kissing Derek.

His mate had apparently deemed him clean enough to proceed, and he could taste Derek on both of their tongues as they kissed. It was weirdly hot and made him squirm, trying to get more friction on his dick. He couldn’t fucking believe that he hadn’t blown yet. But then again, Derek hadn’t even touched his dick yet. That would do it. 

Derek was the one to break the kiss, and Stiles got pouty about it - like a total brat - before he realized that Derek was just reaching into the nightstand next to the bed to get lube and condoms. 

“Smart mate,” he nodded, already needing Derek’s weight on top of him again. “So good to me.” 

That earned him another kiss (or two, or three) before Stiles heard the familiar snick that meant that Derek was opening the lube container. Stiles squirmed again at the thought of what he knew would come next. How different would it be from when he did it himself? Derek’s fingers were thicker, so he was really going to…

His brain broke a little when a slick hand wrapped around his dick. That was not what he’d been expecting Derek to do - but if Derek really was his perfect wolfy match, he had to be at least a little unpredictable. And now he was thinking about all of the other surprises that could be in his future. His future with Derek. 

“Derek,” he moaned when his mate curved his wrist a little on the upstroke. “That’s so good. You’re so good. Just… Fuck. Just fuck me already.” 

It wasn’t fair that Derek could break his brain so effortlessly. Sure, they were mates, and Derek was supposed to be the only one who could do this to him, but fuck, it was a little terrifying to lose himself like this to a complete stranger. He hadn’t known Derek’s name when he came home with him, and he hadn’t cared. 

He still didn’t care. He just wanted him - names didn’t matter, history didn’t matter. This was his mate, and he belonged to Stiles and Stiles belonged to him. 

“Impatient,” Derek teased, grinning as he tortured Stiles with his warm, slick hand. 

“Look who’s talking,” Stiles was ready for that fight. “Come on, Derek. Get on with it.” 

Of course Derek was an asshole, who squeezed the base of Stiles’ cock to keep him from coming just yet. His dry hand grabbed Stiles’ ass and squeezed - Stiles groaned. Derek added some more lube to his fingers - Stiles tried to grab at Derek in return. 

“I’ve got you,” Derek promised, stupidly sincere as his finger started to tease at Stiles’ rim. 

“I know,” Stiles tried to yank Derek in for another kiss. “You’re my mate. I’m safe.” 

And he was - he felt safe. Maybe it was magic, but he felt completely safe. So it was easy to let Derek in, metaphorically speaking. And literally, because his body opened up for Derek’s finger, more easily than it usually did for Stiles’. 

“Give me two,” Stiles ordered, before finally getting Derek to kiss him again. 

The kiss was brief, as Stiles needed to pant against Derek’s skin at the entrance of that second finger. The sting was barely even there, and Derek immediately set a rhythm, occasionally teasing Stiles’ prostate with those thick fingers. His thighs twitched and trembled, and he had to find something to hold onto - he feared he might float right off. 

Derek’s eyes were bright blue. “You take it so well. So good to me, Stiles. So good for me, my mate. Letting me touch you and claim you.” 

Stiles moaned as Derek started scissoring his fingers, opening him up with an efficiency that usually eluded Stiles. He just… he wanted, he needed, and Derek was so close and still too far away. He needed more contact, skin to skin. 

“Touch me,” Stiles whined. “Need you, Derek.” 

His mate complied, slowly caressing Stiles’ chest - sure, Stiles was kinda bummed Derek wasn’t squeezing his ass, but this was better, closer. Derek’s strong hand running over his chest, his arms, down to his thighs, spread wide with Derek in between them. He wanted to feel Derek everywhere, wanted to feel him inside. 

Three fingers, and Derek teased him by slipping in his pinky finger as well every other stroke. Stiles had never been this full - the angle had been impossible, not without getting a suspicious wrist cramp - and it still wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough, not until Derek was inside of him, not until he was full and claimed. 

“Der,” Stiles was trying hard to keep his eyes open. “Now. Need you now.” 

Derek growled again, and the vibrations of it tickled Stiles’ skin. He made a desperate grab for the condom, trying to open it without taking his fingers away - Stiles needed those fingers, would die without them. Derek struggled, and Stiles got impatient. And stupid, probably. 

“Leave it,” he decided. “Just you. Nothing else.” 

It was ridiculous that he was even thinking it. He knew all about safety, about always using condoms, especially with a stranger. He didn’t know where Derek had been, and even though it was Stiles’ first time, it wasn’t Derek’s. But that didn’t matter. 

Because mate. Mate meant that he was safe.

“Stiles,” Derek admonished him with just one word. 

“Mate,” he whined. “You know you want to. Claim me properly. Like a good wolf. Leave your scent inside. Just yours. Only yours. I’m yours. Now. Now, Derek.” 

Words were hard, but he got his point across. And Derek listened, like a good mate. He tossed the condom aside and started to slick up his cock - already ridiculously hard again, as if Stiles hadn’t made him come at all. 

“Yes, good,” Stiles hissed as he felt a blunt pressure at his hole, fingers gone and leaving him empty. 

But not for long. 

Derek pushed in slowly, steadily, and Stiles tossed his head from side to side, looking for steady ground where there was none to be found. This was… he’d never had this before, never felt this filled, had never had anyone looking at him like he was giving them a gift. Derek just looked at him, stared with those bright blue wolfy eyes as he bottomed out. 

“Stiles,” Derek repeated. “Stiles.” 

“You feel so good,” Stiles told him in return. “You feel like mine. My mate. Derek.” 

He whined that last word, because Derek was pulling back and then thrusting again - harder this time. The angle was right on, right away. Stupid werewolf powers making it easy for Derek, Stiles was sure about that. But that didn’t matter, because it was good, it was helping make Stiles feel so good. Derek was on top, Stiles’ legs up and over his arms, spreading him wide. 

“Wait,” Derek stopped. 

“No,” Stiles refused to pout again. “Now.” 

That made Derek laugh, even as he let go of Stiles’ legs and slowly pulled out - which was just unacceptable. Until Derek flipped them, lying down on the bed while Stiles was on top, staring down at Derek’s ridiculous body. 

“Want you to do it,” Derek looked up at him adoringly. “Take your pleasure from me. Take it, I want you to claim me too.” 

Fuck, okay, well, that was really fucking hot okay. And Derek helped Stiles settle on top of him, helped him slowly sink down onto that thick cock. 

It was perfect - Stiles had all the power, could find the exact right angle as he built up a rhythm, slow but steady. His hands on Derek’s chest to settle him, he started moving faster and faster and faster, watching Derek’s wolf-blue eyes stare at him so sweetly. Derek started thrusting up as Stiles sunk down, and it was better than perfect, that smooth hot glide helping him spiral higher and higher and higher. He was close. 

Derek’s hand was moving towards Stiles’ cock, and he just slapped it away. “Nah-ah,” he panted, stubborn as fuck. “Gonna come on your cock. Just you. I wanna. I have to. Mate.” 

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, trying to pull himself up and fuck, those abs. 

The angle changed slightly, hitting Stiles’ prostate every single time - it was almost too much, what he was feeling, constant tugging on the bond between the two of them as it got tighter and tighter until… 

“Fuck,” Stiles pushed himself down one final time as he came. “Derek!” 

Derek continued to thrust, Stiles’ oversensitive body twitching around him, milking him, until he came as well, growling Stiles’ name as he filled him. 

Stiles was spent, tired, collapsing against Derek, trusting that his mate would keep him. His breathing was heavy, his heart was pounding, and he wasn’t a virgin anymore. He was claimed, properly now. He was Derek’s now, and Derek was his. All his. No one else. 

Could he write property of Stiles Stilinski on Derek’s ass? Because he would. 

“You’re perfect,” Derek pulled him in for a soft, slow kiss. 

It was almost comforting, like all of the aches in his body were brain drawn out by the prolonged contact - which was a ridiculous thought. But he felt warm and safe and settled, like his brain wasn’t about to take a running leap somewhere, for once. It was a good feeling - well, more than good, but words were still a little bit hard. Hah - hard. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Stiles huffed. 

“You let me claim you,” Derek was astonished, stroking his marks on Stiles’ neck. “I’m basically a stranger, and you just… You’re not a wolf, and you still feel it.” 

Sure, Stiles hadn’t known about werewolves until this night. But it wasn’t like he knew nothing about the supernatural world - his mother’s journals had taught him a lot of… tricks. They hadn’t mentioned wolves, but they’d mentioned Talia Hale, and how she was a strong ally - and Stiles was to go to her if something happened to his mother. 

Guess she hadn’t managed to update it after the fire, before she got sick. Though those events weren’t all that far apart. 

“You’re my mate,” Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek. “I may not have smelled it, like you and your special wolfy nose, but I do feel it. It’s magic - it’s our magic, reaching out to both of us.” 

Perhaps he should have dressed as Harry Potter, though that would have been misleading as well. Stiles had no wand, and no spells (not really, things didn’t work like that for him). He just had a strong mind that could do things most people couldn’t. Most people didn’t even know the things he did could be done - but he doubted his mate was like that. 

“Our magic?” There was suspicion in Derek’s eyes. 

“I’m not just John Stilinski’s son, you know,” Stiles was grinning, because he loved a good reveal. “My mother was Claudia Gajos. She taught me… well, not everything she knew, because she died too young for that, but I learned a lot about what Sparks can achieve if they just believe. And I’ve always had a strong will.” 

He was proud of his legacy, and had been forced to hide it for almost a decade now. He’d practiced, and trained himself, but it wasn’t the same as when he went up into the attic with his mother. His father… hadn’t been able to deal with the reminder. 

“You’re a gift,” Derek reached for him again. “My Spark. My mate.” 

Stiles let himself be moved, let Derek press him against his body, heartbeats falling in tune together. Derek pressed soft kisses against his skin as Stiles closed his eyes. The tug of the bond was silent for now. 

They were together, they were safe. The bond was strong. 

In the morning they’d deal with everything else, call the Alpha (Laura, he’d been right) back in to formally introduce Stiles into the pack. In the morning, Stiles would call his father and explain. For now, they slept. 


End file.
